


Plan B

by Ecanus



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Gen, ryan doing the loophole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecanus/pseuds/Ecanus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's supposed to be an easy money run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan B

**Author's Note:**

> (Prompt fills: Ryan's first mission with the crew, Ryan being a 'BAMF', something going wrong and the only solution is something ridiculous and possibly deadly.)

It’s supposed to be an easy money run.

After all, it’s Ryan’s first time on the field with the Crew. Don’t wanna do anything too hard for the rookie, y’know. Even if he is far from a rookie in regards to his experience in this sort of thing—as far as they’ve gathered; his past is an elusive one—he’s still new to their operation. He needed to learn where he could fit in and how he could add a unique dimension to their small but highly specialized gang.

This is the scenario: There’s a bank that just opened up in the neighbourhood of Vespucci not two weeks ago that was still fresh for the picking, and it just so happened that on this particular day, a protest was scheduled to take place in downtown Los Santos. More often than not, protests in the city warped into riots, protesters whipping picket signs through store windows and toppling cars in the path of their march, so the LSPD had learned to amp up their defences prematurely in preparation for the impending chaos, forces being transferred from stations across the districts. This left the districts far from the epicentre with their goddamn pants down, so hell if the Crew wasn’t going to use that to their advantage.

Flaw one, Ryan thinks.

This is the setup: They’ve got one hell of a reserve of vehicles, thanks to both Jack’s connections and lucky steals from previous heists. Jack and Geoff will be the ones robbing the bank, safe and sound in a dinged up—but still functional—armored truck. Michael will provide as a distraction—on a motorcycle, luring any patrol cops away in whatever way he can before the robbery has been initiated.

Michael mumbles something about ‘fucking motorcycles, every time’ during briefing, but either he’s ignored or Ryan is the only one to hear him.

Flaw two.

The last vehicle is a chopper to provide observation and backup. They all are sure it’s not necessary, but Ryan has to observe from somewhere. Preferably from a safe distance and harmless. Literally. They strip him of all his guns and hunker him down in a seat and let him enjoy the show while Ray readies his rifle and Gavin prepares to ascend (with an assurance that he’s gotten a ‘bloody lot’ of training from Jack).

Thing is, they don’t trust him yet, even if he passed initiation with flying colors. It’s understandable. He’s the first to join the Crew as a complete stranger—no past with any of the others and any inkling of a past at all trapped with lock and key beneath his tongue. So, he obliges, sitting in the chopper without protest, the slightest hint of a smirk beneath his mask despite the overwhelming sense of nakedness his hands feel without even so much as a handheld radio between his fingers, Ray’s back turned, oblivious.

Flaw three.

——————————————

It’s a catastrophe.

Every detail of the plan they’d put their faith into crumbles the moment the heist is initiated. The protest does not become a chaotic; it disperses barely a half hour in to the march without so much as a hint to escalating into destruction. Apparently whatever they were protesting was not significant enough to face the threat of the army of police crowding the alleys.

None of them know this, of course, so they continue as planned. Michael enters the district, careening down the roads on his motorcycle in search of any patrol cars, but they’re either not present or they don’t take the bait. As soon as Michael informs them through a secure radio channel that the coast is clear, Jack moves in, Geoff in the passenger seat, parking by the bank as inconspicuously as one can with a scratched and dented armored truck, hoping to fool the people inside into thinking they were on the job, picking something up from the bank or dropping something off.

No such luck. Turns out the teller happened to be a witness they neglected to eradicate during one of their heists not too long ago. She recognizes Geoff immediately from a glance outside as they park, her hands already up when they casually stroll through the bank doors. It’s clear that she’s called the cops. They waste no time, then, easily coercing the woman into dumping whatever cash she has access to into a sack and tossing it with effort over the counter.

It’s through Ray’s transceiver that Ryan can hear the 9mm round exiting the barrel of Jack’s pistol and into the woman’s skull point blank while Geoff informs them of the situation. His tone is a teeth grind away from pissed, but not hurried. “We’re still in the clear, boys. Keep an eye out until we’re back in the truck, then we’ll handle it from there. Meet us at the waypoint—”

Whatever else their Kingpin says is lost, because it’s that moment that Ray is suddenly straightening his shoulders and getting his sniper rifle into position. Ryan cocks a brow, but it becomes apparent a moment later what has suddenly startled him into action. A police chopper is approaching on the horizon. Not to them—Gavin had the good sense to keep them hovering a fair distance away from scene of the crime—but to the bank from which the duo was currently exiting, bags of money in tow.

Ryan watches in appreciative silence as Ray looks down his scope, breathing even until the moment he’s locked on target. He inhales deeply in preparation for the shot, index finger moving from the safe position and on to the trigger, exhale slow and calculated before—

Bang.

The sound is mostly swallowed by the deep thump-thump-thump of the helicopter’s blades, the recoil of the gun pushing at Ray’s wiry frame though he holds his ground with the ease of a veteran. In the distance, the bullet has pierced the windshield of the other helicopter, and from what transpires next, it can be assumed that Ray’s shot was right on the money. The chopper nosedives, and Ryan watches as it falls from the sky until the vehicle disappears behind a set of buildings, crashing in an intersection.

First try on a half-mile shot from an unstable position. Ray’s reputation definitely wasn’t a fluke.

When they tune back in to the radio, it’s not Geoff that’s talking. Michael’s frantic voice makes its way through the static… along with police sirens.

“It’s gonna get pretty fucking ugly over there in a minute. We’ve got a squad from Downtown on route about two clicks from the bank, and boy do they have a bone to pick with you, boss.”

“Son of a bitch,” Geoff curses, his voice cracking slightly in distress, the sound of Jack’s door slamming in the background as she gets the truck ready to go. It’s evident that he knows they won’t be able to get out of there in time. There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “What do we got for a Plan B?”

Michael responds immediately. “Plan B?”

“… Tell me we don’t have a Plan B and you’re fired.”

“We didn’t discuss a fucking Plan B!”

Geoff and Michael continue from there, escalating until they’re between improvising a plan and screaming bloody murder at each other in frustration. Gavin’s voice occasionally pops in, but he’s promptly ignored or told to shut the fuck up by one of the other two parties. Jack has her hands full with driving to get them the fuck out of there. Ray sits in the chopper, trying to seem calm and collected, but his shoulders have come up slightly, head sunken down in shame as the normally organized Crew has found itself in a catastrophe of a situation.

Ryan sits in the chopper as though he is watching all this happen on a television screen—calm, disconnected. He bounces his knee like he wants to change the channel. It’s embarrassing, really. Such a notorious gang, brought to shambles so easily, and no backup plan to salvage it. Perhaps they got a little too cocky when setting up, trying to make it all seem so easy; impress their new recruit by lolly-gagging around a job they believed should have been simple.

Flaw four. You should never leave room for error, no matter how simple the job.

Lucky for them, Ryan had been paying attention.

It’s at the point that communication through the radio had all but ceased and the armored truck was being chased by over a dozen police cars that Ryan decides to stand, calmly shifting over the two steps to Ray and crouching beside him. “Hand me your radio.”

The voice takes Ray off guard. He whips his head over to look at the masked man. Although he’d seemed calm and focused, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead betrays otherwise. “What?”

Ryan doesn’t say anything, elbows resting on his thighs as he eyes Ray with a look that says _you heard what I said_.

“Hey, you know Geoff said I can’t—”

Ryan reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a fifty. Offers it to Ray.

— “Still need a Plan B?” Ryan says into the transceiver he now possesses. His eyes are suddenly alive, darting around the scene in the streets just below, scanning the situation more intently.

“Who the fu— who let the new recruit on the line?” Geoff says. His voice is a clusterfuck of anger, desperation and surprise, punctuated shortly after with the sound of a bullet shattering one of the truck’s windows. There’s a swear before the line goes dead, and from his perch Ryan sees a pistol peak out from the passenger window to shoot back at the cops.

“Wasn’t me, I’ll tell you that,” Gavin chimes in.

“Ray!”

Ray is holding the bill up to the light, checking if it’s real. He shrugs and stuffs the fifty in his pocket.

“That a no to the plan?”

The gunfire has stopped, but the line remains dead for a moment. Ryan’s surprised he hasn’t gotten an immediate ‘suck a dick’ from the Crew’s leader. He imagines Jack has something to do with that—probably consulting him about their options while they swerve madly through the streets.

It doesn’t take long.

“Alright, tell us what you got. But you make one mistake and you’re dead.”

Ryan smirks. “Of course.”

Time to play.

The chase has gone on long enough that they’ve now entered South Los Santos. The LSPD hasn’t coordinated very well—the majority of them are keeping on the truck’s tail, while the few who attempt to flank from side streets have failed. Air support other than the one chopper Ray took down is non-existent. He can see Michael down below as well—somewhat far from the action, but still playing his part, taking out any cops that stray from the pack with bullets and sticky bombs, cautious not to put himself too out in the open, considering the minimal protection his motorcycle provides.

Ryan speaks without looking away from the scene below. “What’s the time.”

Ray startles slightly, realizing he was spoken to. He takes out his phone. “Just hit 6:56.”

Perfect.

“Alright, Geoff, I need you to take out your phone. Make sure the time is synced up with your network; you’re gonna need to tell it to Jack by the second. Jack, exactly on the hour, you need to be turning onto the road to Port from Dutch London Street. Can you manage that?”

“… Yeah, yeah I think I got it,” Jack says. There’s some doubt in her voice, but Ryan can’t tell if it’s because of who is giving the instructions or if she was questioning her own ability. Judging by her reputation, though, it’s likely the former.

“Good. Michael, how many bombs you got left?”

“Fuck, uh,” his voice filters in, the bike’s engine loud and clear as he speeds full tilt down a straight road, a police car with a fresh corpse at the wheel stopped a few blocks back. “Three or four?”

“That’ll do. Go to Port and place them at the beginning of the two bridges leading in to the island. You’ll know when to detonate.”

“Whatever you’re doing better fucking work, pal,” Michael spits, but he does what he’s told, Ryan watching as he swerves from the action and heads south.

As the chase continues, Ryan hands the radio back to Ray for the moment and stands up. He walks carefully to the cockpit where Gavin is idly concentrating on where to position the chopper to get the best view of the action. So far, they’re in the clear—probably thanks to the big ‘Weazel News’ letters painted on to the sides of the helicopter. Gavin’s got his headset on, listening for any activity on the private channel the Crew is using. Judging from what Ryan’s learned of Gavin during his short time with the Crew, his silence is strange. Ryan attributes it to nervousness, or just focusing on flying the chopper correctly.

Regardless, he taps gently on the man’s shoulder. Gavin flinches and turns, then pushes the loudspeaker off his right ear. “Yeah?” His hands are no longer on the sticks.

“First of all, pay attention.”

“Wh—” he starts, then turns back to see the chopper ever so slightly tilting forward. “Oh, God, right.” He puts his hands back on the controls.

“Second, I need you to move us as close to the bridge that Geoff and Jack are going to cross as you can. Just in case.”

“’Kay, got it.” Gavin immediately takes action, turning the helicopter and heading south. After a moment, his eyes squint a little, accompanied by a small head tilt. “And why am I doing this?”

He’s the first to ask why. Ryan purses his lips behind his mask.

“Plan C.”

He steps away before Gavin can question further, returning to Ray’s side, taking the transceiver back and watching the events unfold below.

Twenty seconds to the hour, Michael announces over the channel that the bombs are in place and he’s on the Port, ready to detonate. Jack’s cutting it close—they’re just turning on to Dutch London from Jamestown, followed shortly by a barrage of cops. Ten seconds. The timing looks good, they should make it just in time for—

One of the police cars catches up just enough to attempt a pit maneuver on the back right wheel of the truck. It doesn’t do too much—more damage is done to the police than to the truck—but it’s enough to slow Jack down in an attempt to recover traction.

They’re three seconds late when they make the last turn.

Geoff is immediately on the radio. “Are you fucking with me right now? This was the plan!?”

Of course, right on time, the draw bridge is already rising.

There were many things Ryan knew about Los Santos, and one of those things was that the Port ran like fucking clockwork. Everything was always on time, strictly to schedule, so long as the weather was cooperating. And Ryan knew that every hour on the dot, from 3 in the afternoon to 9 at night on weekdays, a supply boat made its way through this canal, reliably raising the bridges for a solid two minutes as it puttered its way through.

“We’re not gonna make it! You’re gonna fucking kill us!”

“Gun it. It’s your only option right now.” Gavin has the chopper in position, close enough to the bridge. Ryan quickly turns to Ray. “Check your back left pocket.”

Ray’s paying attention this time, showing confusion but still obliging, and when he pulls his hand back, his brows shoot up, and Ryan thinks he sees his cheeks pale. Nonetheless, he hands the item that had been snuck into his pocket to the new recruit. “What the fuck, man.”

No response from Ryan. He watches as the truck revs full tilt towards the bridge, now half-raised. The gap in the middle is huge—at least for the fucking whale of a vehicle they’re driving—but they continue on nonetheless. The front bumper grinds slightly against the inclined ground of the bridge as they hit it before levelling off onto the hill, and keep going. Their speed dramatically decreases. The police pursuing them skid to a halt at the bottom. Their two front wheels lose ground, followed by the back, and then they’re airborne. Ryan swears he can see Jack and Geoff’s screaming faces from his place in the chopper.

They hit the sharp angle of the highest point of the bridge with the truck’s chassis hard enough to bend it in. They balance their for an agonizing, breath-holding moment before the truck decides to tilt forward, the vehicle sliding until its back wheels stop it. The front wheels spin madly as Jack pushes hard on the gas, trying to get the truck to drag its ass off the incline, but it won’t budge.

They’re stuck.

No problem. Before anyone can scream at him through the radio, Ryan holds up Plan C.

He presses the trigger.

Underneath the truck, stuck right between the back wheels, a sticky bomb explodes. The blast propels the back of the truck upward, and they slide forward, dislodged and rolling forward, regaining speed.

Disbelief in the form of laughter and cheers from the two younger Crew members floods the chopper. A couple other explosions erupt in the fading light of the day—Michael’s bombs, taking out the flood of cops at the bridge they just crossed and a few flankers who were about to make their way across the adjacent one.

“I saw all of that!” It’s Michael, a laugh still present in his tone, “That was fucking insane!”

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?” Geoff. “I think I had a heart attack. Holy shit. I hate you. I hate you, you brilliant bastard.”

Ryan lets out a huff of amusement. “Still have my job, I take it?”

“By a hair, asshole. By a FUCKING hair.”

“You’ve gotta be goddamn psychic.” Gavin, flabbergasted, speaks through his headset. “How’d you know that would happen? And how’d you sneak all that around us?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” In truth, he didn’t know. He was just damn fucking good at guessing what might happen, and finding the solutions. There was a dozen different items hidden either on their persons or their vehicles, but he’d reveal that later. Let the illusion last for a bit. “We’re not done yet, though. There’s a parked car under the freeway to your right, Jack. Keys under the front left wheel.”

Jack and Geoff transfer the money over to the other car and drive off, and Gavin leads the chopper away to avoid leading the cops right to them. The chase is over, and the search ends shortly, too.

“And that’s a wrap, boys,” the Crew’s Kingpin sighs through the radio, “Looks like everybody’s getting one hell of a paycheck tonight. Our recruit still on the line?”

“Right here.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t gonna do this, but you’re getting a cut tonight. Keep it up. And next time? Tell me if you’re planning on launching us over a fucking bridge.”

A smirk crawls across Ryan’s lips. “Will do.”

As they climb out of the helicopter after it’s landed, Gavin bounds over to him, a snarky little grin on his face. “’Next time’. You’re on his good side. Make sure you stay on it, yeah?”

Ryan looks at him. Gavin’s grin falters as he’s met with a stare that doesn’t quite look focused. Distant, almost. “That’s the plan.”

Of course, at least until it was necessary.

All part of the plan.


End file.
